


Black and White

by blackandwhiteandrose, TrueIllusion



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxiety, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Flufftober, Husbands, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackandwhiteandrose/pseuds/blackandwhiteandrose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: The first time Patrick touched David, he felt a spark. Intrigue. Curiosity that quickly turned into fascination once David started to speak, using words like ‘oscillate’ and ‘branded immersive experience’ as he attempted to describe his general-but-specific store. Fascination that soon left Patrick unable to resist teasing him a bit, just to see how he’d react. And yeah, maybe Patrick had been flirting a little. But it felt impossiblenotto flirt when faced with a unicorn of a person who somehow effortlessly balanced worldliness and naivety, blending two opposite qualities into a single worldview that might as well have been labeled “David.”And then there were his clothes.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 24
Kudos: 160





	Black and White

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Monochromatic
> 
> This is our first (and probably not last) co-writing venture. It's also what happens when two people with advanced degrees in media who are total nerds about research get together to write a fic. But hey, any excuse to rewatch, right?

Black and white. 

The complete and total absence of light, and nothing _but_ light.

Two polar opposites.

A contradiction. And yet sometimes, complementary. The perfect balance.

Sophistication and innocence. Mystery and purity. Elegance and lightness. Power and freedom. Low energy and high.

A color scheme perfectly fitting for the enigma that was David Rose.

The first time Patrick touched David, he felt a spark. Intrigue. Curiosity that quickly turned into fascination once David started to speak, using words like ‘oscillate’ and ‘branded immersive experience’ as he attempted to describe his general-but-specific store. Fascination that soon left Patrick unable to resist teasing him a bit, just to see how he’d react. And yeah, maybe Patrick had been flirting a little. But it felt impossible _not_ to flirt when faced with a unicorn of a person who somehow effortlessly balanced worldliness and naivety, blending two opposite qualities into a single worldview that might as well have been labeled “David.”

And then there were his clothes.

Patrick had never met anyone before who dressed like David Rose, in bold patterns and styles of expensive designer couture, with an almost entirely monochromatic color scheme. At first, Patrick took in David’s fashion from a purely superficial perspective -- presuming his choices of clothing to be simply another way for David to set himself apart from the crowd. Then, he’d started noticing there were patterns -- that David’s clothing often matched his mood or made a statement about what was going on around him.

Some were subtle. Soft and fuzzy sweaters when he was feeling insecure. Leather when he needed to be brave or bold. Fire, spikes, skulls, or snakes when something was uncertain in his life. Stars when he was venturing out of his comfort zone. Bold florals as a diversion, when he wanted to observe without being _truly_ noticed for anything other than his clothing.

Others contained a more obvious message. “I believe in the power of love,” worn in silent support on the night when Patrick came out to his parents. “Wild aloof rebel,” which were perhaps the three words that described David best. “Lover” when he was feeling soft or especially romantic.

Some Patrick would never forget, like the simple black sweater with a white heart David had worn on his birthday, which had given Patrick the courage to get over his fears and just ask David out already. The lightning bolt Neil Barrett piece David had worn to dinner that night ended up being almost prescient, given how a simple spark grew to a full-blown fire in the moments after he’d kissed Patrick, elevating their relationship from ‘just business partners’ to something more. Then there was the subtle image of angel wings -- symbols of courage, love, harmony, and protection -- on solid black, worn on the day he and David had said “I love you” for the first time. And, of course, the Valentino sweater he’d worn on the morning of their wedding day, with the word “love” emblazoned in a rainbow of color -- a perfect choice for the happiest day of their lives.

Patrick knew that to the average outside observer, David Rose was a mystery. He also knew that David was a bit of a conundrum even to those he had allowed to get close… well, clos _er_. And he was _sure_ that so, so few ever truly got to peek behind the carefully crafted facade and see the real David Rose. But the visual was still only a little bit of the story in the anthology of David. Part of the magic was being able to translate the subtleties. Patrick considered his fluency to be one of his greatest accomplishments. 

He thought back sometimes to sitting at that cafe table with his parents, his father remarking that he didn’t understand David’s clothes. He’d so casually assured them that they would in time, and without realizing it, had just given himself an endorsement of achievement. He did understand David’s clothes. He knew the cues and the hints that lay within the color choices and the patterns. He had become so adept in reading David and picking up on everything he wasn’t saying, that David was sometimes aggravated that he was unable to hide anything, even given his best efforts. Patrick was proud of many things about his competent, detail-driven personality, but perhaps none more so than his abilities to decipher all things David and not be distracted by his various tricks of diversion. 

He knew that some of David’s looks were confusing to the general population. He also knew it could have been one of the things that might have given pause to his parents as they adapted to the idea that not only was their son in a relationship with a man, but a man that wore skirts. If forced to choose a favorite among David’s many articles of clothing, Patrick would likely say the gender-bending item would rank toward the very top. Of course he could remember the first time he’d noticed David’s skirted pants, as well as the reaction he’d had -- a thrill at the fearless unexpectedness of it, followed quickly by ‘ _damn, that’s sexy_ ’.

One of the things that Patrick appreciated most about David’s aesthetic was the overall “don’t give a fuck” vibe that came with his meticulously curated, deliberate way of expressing himself through what he wore. While David was prone to anxiety about nearly everything at one time or another, the two things that were rock steady for him were his love for Patrick and his sense of style. Patrick admired the fact that David would not acquiesce to anyone else’s expectations when it came to what he wanted to wear. A skirted suit on their wedding day had been the ultimate “I don’t care what you think” to anyone who had an opinion about David’s sartorial choices. For someone like Patrick, who had lived far too long in the boxes everyone else had closed him in, his husband’s capacity to silently say “fuck you, this is who I am and this is what I like” made him more than a little jealous.

There were many traits that David possessed that Patrick did not, and he was certain that was one of the reasons they worked so well as a couple. Like black and white were so opposite, but so complimentary, David was everything Patrick was not, and vice versa. They balanced each other out in temperament and talents; where one had a weakness the other brought strength. But perhaps most importantly, they were light to each other’s darkness. Patrick knew that he had given David a kind of love and sincerity he’d never had before -- flooding those hidden, haunted parts of him with devotion and the tenderness he deserved. And in return, David gifted him with the discovery of himself and a passion that he hadn’t known existed. Black and white. Darkness and light. David and Patrick.

He liked the specificity of _this and that_ , two things that belonged together, a contrast that brought out the best in both. When he had doubts about what was next or could feel himself spiraling over the things he couldn’t control, David was right there with an arm around his shoulders, a kiss to his temple, and just the right thing to say. They took care of each other. He knew how to hold David during a panic attack, to ground him and bring him back into himself. He was sure they were both the best versions of themselves when they were together. A matched set. Can’t have one without the other.

And that meant being ready to support one another when necessary -- a time when being able to read David’s mood by how he chose to dress in the morning was a very useful skill.

Yesterday’s sweater -- a gray Alexander McQueen piece accented with two black hearts and three white birds -- told him David was content. Feeling loved and settled. Today’s choice -- the same fuzzy, polka-dotted sweater he’d worn on the day they’d both learned that love meant accepting even the messy, embarrassing parts of each other -- alerted Patrick that it was only a matter of time until something tilted David’s world, setting him adrift. Patrick knew that some days were just like that. There didn’t have to be a trigger. Sometimes, David would simply wake up feeling ‘off,’ and it would either be a day spent in a flurry of restless motion, or one that ended in a panic attack and sheer exhaustion for David. Or, more likely, a combination of both.

So Patrick prepared himself, keeping a careful watch on the person he loved most in the world as they prepared for the day and opened the store. They made it through the first hour or so without incident, and David seemed fine, even if a bit overly focused on reorganizing the soaps, so Patrick decided to run across the street to the cafe for tea, coffee, and muffins -- a treat to hopefully make David’s day a little bit better.

Fifteen minutes later, Patrick was leaving the cafe, clutching a drink tray in one hand and a paper bag containing David’s favorite apple crisp muffins in the other. He’d tried not to take _too_ long, but Twyla liked to chat, and sometimes that made it hard to get away, especially if he was stopping by during the mid-morning or afternoon lull when there weren’t many customers. So what should have been a quick jaunt took twice as long, but surely David should have been okay for fifteen minutes. After all, he’d been fine when Patrick left. 

As Patrick crossed the street, the sense that something wasn’t right started to build in his gut, but he pushed it back down, telling himself that he was just making _himself_ anxious waiting for something to happen with David. But when he got to the door and saw a customer standing alone at the counter with no David in sight, pushing away the worry was no longer a possibility.

“Um, hi,” Patrick sputtered, quickly setting the food down on the counter. “I’m so sorry about that, my partner was just here, but I guess he must have… stepped out… for a moment.”

Patrick could hear the uncertainty in his own voice as he said the words, but the customer simply shrugged and smiled.

“It’s no problem,” she said. “I had actually just walked over here when you came back, so it was perfect timing.”

Patrick nodded, pulling his lips into his mouth as he started scanning her purchases, electing to skip his normal smalltalk in favor of straining to listen for any sounds that would indicate David was somewhere inside the store, in distress. He heard nothing, however, and his brief glance into the back room while the customer was counting her change was also fruitless, with no David on the couch, nor at his desk, or organizing backstock.

Each passing second of trying to finish up the transaction had Patrick’s heart hammering in his chest, wondering where on earth David could be if he wasn’t in the store, and he wasn’t in the back room. Outside at Moira’s garden, maybe? Or in the alley behind the building? Patrick hoped not, but he knew anything was a possibility if David had felt like he needed to escape.

Moving as quickly as he could, Patrick finished bagging the customer’s items and handed her the tote, along with her receipt, and that was when he noticed the curtain that normally covered the entrance to the staircase that led to the building’s second level was slightly askew. He followed the woman to the door, trying not to be _too_ obvious, though he was certainly more than ready to flip the sign to ‘closed’ so he could find his husband.

Once the door was locked, Patrick wasted no time in getting to the back corner of the store and pulling the curtain aside, revealing David’s black high-tops a few steps up, and David sitting on the stairs, elbows resting on his knees as he twisted the engagement rings on his right hand, his eyes closed as he breathed. He was taking deep, steady breaths, but it was clear to Patrick that it was an effort, and the hitch that broke up David’s next inhale made Patrick wish he hadn’t left him alone.

“David? What’s going on?” Patrick asked, keeping his voice soft as he took a cautious step toward his husband. It was clear that David was barely holding on, fighting a panic that likely had no cause. Those were the panic attacks Patrick hated the most, because he was a man of action. If there was a clear trigger, that meant there was something he could focus on, and some sort of process he could follow to help alleviate David’s anxiety. But when there was no trigger, all he could do was be there, holding David. Grounding him. Bringing him through to the other side.

David shook his head, keeping his eyes closed, clearly still needing to focus his attention on his breath, which was getting more unsteady with each inhale and exhale. 

Patrick backed himself against the wall and took two quick steps up, sliding past David. He situated himself behind David and spoke quietly. “David, I’m right here. You are not alone and I won’t let anything hurt you.” He paused, then asked, “May I touch you?”

For a moment there was no response, then just a small, almost imperceptible nod, followed by a very shaky “yes.”

Making very precise movements, Patrick put his feet on either side of David’s hips and hands on David’s shoulders, bracketing around him. When he didn’t flinch or pull away, Patrick began to slip his grip down David’s arms, keeping a constant contact of slight pressure, until he could press himself against David’s back. “I’ve got you. And I will stay here as long as you need me, okay?”

Another little nod of his perfectly coiffed hair, barely ruffled by the slight movement. “S-sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I have an excuse to wrap my arms around my husband and hold on tight. Honestly, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing now,” Patrick told him.

David’s next breath was just a little less ragged as he let himself lean back into Patrick’s arms. He tried to do the focusing exercises -- starting with four things he could feel. That was easy -- Patrick’s hands, Patrick’s thighs, Patrick’s chest, Patrick’s arms. He was surrounded by everything that made him feel safe and secure. Three things he could hear -- Patrick’s breathing, Patrick’s voice whispering that he’s okay, and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. But it wasn’t as loud now, made quiet by all the Patrick-ness around him. 

Patrick felt the moment everything shifted, when the tension started to drain out of David’s body, the chaos giving way to calm. There was another sort of victory in these moments, when it was so easy to see what they did for each other, in a way no one else could. Patrick would never admit it, but sometimes when the panic was intense and the anxiety was putting up its best fight, he fancied himself a little bit like a warrior when it was all over, having slayed the monsters they couldn’t see, that still felt so real. David was in his arms and they’d won this round, the two of them against the world. 

He hoped David would wear white tomorrow.


End file.
